The Most Enchanted Time of the Year
by Sumshine904
Summary: Giselle becomes engrossed with the holidays while Robert must juggle having to plan Christmas dinner, make up an excuse to not wear his mother's hand knitted sweater, figure out the perfect proposal—oh, and to not get caught laying out the presents.


**Author's Note:**** So. My first submission here since I joined like, some years ago. XD**

**One of my best friends (****NexusTehULF0o****, who you should go visit and review, because she digs those and deserves 'em) and I were chirping about Disney films like the little girls we are on the inside, and she thought of some amazingly cute ideas that I really wanted to incorporate into fanfiction. She's also the one who encouraged me to submit this once I finish. So for that, thank you Alex!**

**Also, before anyone jumps to conclusions, I don't have anything against Mexicans (you'll see). Come on, people.**

**

* * *

**

Robert was a good father. Sure, he might not have read or told his daughter any of the usual fairytales one would be familiar with by the age of six, and yeah, he might have given her a painfully boring hardcover instead of the colorful book in the library's window for her birthday—but if there was one thing he had promised to give her, it was the happiness and excitement of knowing that Santa Claus was coming for a visit on Christmas Eve.

This year was particularly different, however. It was also much more difficult than he had thought it'd be, too. Not only did he have to—no, WANT to—maintain Morgan's innocence, but his girlfriend's as well.

The average person inside Macy*s would think one bizarre, if not mentally unstable, if a thirty-something-year-old woman glowed while perched on top of a Mexican Santa's lap. But to Giselle, she didn't see the dark tone of his face or the thick elastic band keeping his beard in place. She didn't hear the noticeably fluent Spanish drawl to his voice. She didn't smell the odorous scent of cigar smoke emanating from his lips. She truly, sincerely, and genuinely believed that she was speaking with the one and only Mr. Kringle.

There was twice the load of presents to lie out underneath the Christmas tree this year than the last. Not counting the few that had already been dispersed in the past month (Morgan's school always held a small shopping drive where the children could purchase things for their family, whereas Giselle had some of her vermin friends prepare and wrap the others), the mountain he had bought was divided in half between the two of them. He had bought a few cheap nonsense items for himself as well, such as a new toaster and coffeemaker, for good measure.

Everything had been laid out nice and neat beneath the tree and along a few pieces of furniture. Having been a single working father for roughly the past five years, it was safe to assume that Robert had mastered the art of imitating the man with a jelly-esque stomach. Not once had his daughter stirred while he slid a new plush into the nook of her arm, never had she arose earlier than he had anticipated, and by no means had she ever—EVER—caught him in the middle of the act.

A small, humored smirk etched at the far corner of his mouth as he held onto a just as minute and untraceable box within his left hand. He allowed his plump thumb to trace gently over the velvet fabric along its side, not wanting to disturb the perfectly placed red bow on top. The most rewarding chore of the year was almost complete, and he hadn't felt this excited about tomorrow morning since he couldn't recall. He thought it safe enough to chuckle.

With a great deal of thought, Robert bent forwards. He used his index finger to tentatively stretch out the hem of the already overflowing stocking, analyzing the literal bag of joy with a great deal of thought before outstretching the hand containing the sachet. It was like topping off the perfect sundae with a cherry.

_Just one last present, and then I'm…_

"Robert?"

He stood bolt upright, frozen. He was afraid to turn around.

Giselle was wringing her delicate hands together, her strawberry hair swaying to the left as she cocked her head to one side. Her eyes, although drowsy from a lack of sleep, were completely fixated on the man standing paralyzed across the living room.

Prince Phillip cringed among the silence. He hadn't thought this through at all in the five years he's been doing this. Frankly, he felt like he was the Grinch being caught by Cindy Lou Who—no matter how you looked at it, it was an identical parallel to the green recluse that attempted to sabotage the infamous December holiday.

"Robert, why are you going through our stockings? Why…?"

… but you know, the divorce attorney was so smart and so slick that he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick.

"I…" Robert bit his lip, bringing his fist to his mouth to conceal it. He slowly turned himself around from where he stood, discreetly tucking the tiny present into one of the pockets of his sweatpants.

"… was just SO EXCITED," with (albeit a nervous) smile now curling across his lips, the sleep deprived man pumped his fist into the air, stomping one of his feet onto the ground, "that I couldn't stand the wait anymore. I just HAD to find out which presents were mine."

And so he stood there, his posture reminiscent to that of a well guarded videogame character as he waited for some form of reply from the sweet, innocent woman standing across from him.

It wasn't that Giselle didn't believe him (she trusted him with every bone in her body and hair atop her head), but her sleepy, childish mindset took a moment to adjust to the simpleminded fib that had unfolded into her ears. For a good minute, she just blinked.

Her face suddenly glowed. Robert did everything he could to hold back a sigh of relief.

"So… S-So he came?" she chirped, that beautiful, pearly smile spreading a mile wide across her smooth, rosy cheeks. She firmly clasped her hands together in front of her stomach. "Santa actually came?"

"Yes!" Robert laughed, his tone of voice sounding much more lax and reassured knowing that his girlfriend's first Christmas would still remain intact. "Yes, he came! He most definitely came!" He curled both of his hands into tight fists, shaking them in front of himself in a genuine attempt to appear just as excited as she.

"Oh!" Giselle could hardly contain herself while her sapphire eyes absorbed all of the beautifully wrapped packages. "Oh, _oh_!" Her eyes bulged, flickering from the tree, to the presents, to the cookie platter and milk glass, and to the stockings before staring at her true love once more.

She suddenly let out a shriek, not knowing how else to express the sheer amount of excitement boiling within her like a pot of hot water, and gave a light hop into the air.

"M-Morgan!" she exclaimed, scuttling past the attorney and out of the living room. "Morgan, Morgan! He _came_! He actually, finally _came_…!"

Robert waited for the naïve woman to completely exit the room before slouching forwards, burying his brow into one of his large palms as an audibly breathless sigh escaped from his lips. He showed no mercy to the couch as he slumped back into its cushions, leaning back to stare at the ceiling with his baby blue eyes.

"Oh, oh! You got a _dolly_!" cried Giselle from his daughter's bedroom. "Is it the one you've been asking for? Does it speak to you? Oh, please, do try pushing her hand! Could I perhaps play with it?"

Yet another smile spread across the man's stubbly, bristled face. He dug a hand into the pocket of his sweats again, carefully pulling out the small black box. He lifted the opposite hand to lightly adjust the bow stickered poorly on top.

If he did this every year for the rest of his adult life, it would be more than just worth it to be able to see Giselle's face Christmas morning.


End file.
